“He hasn’t been sleeping well, has he?” Omero asks gently.
“No. He has nightmares. I’ve been coaxing him to sleep each night, but he still wakes up panicked and afraid. If I wasn’t there when he woke, he’d find somewhere to hide and stay there until I found him. Closets, cupboards, you name it.”
“He used to sleep like the dead.” Basili’s brows are scrunched in pain, maybe or guilt. “Before all this, nothing could wake him once he was out.”
Before he was kidnapped. The unspoken depths of that statement bounce around the car for a while. It’s just one of the many indications of the trauma Emmanuel has experienced. Traumas that none of us are fully aware of, but that I am determined to discover.
“Thank you.” Beside me, Basili’s voice is low but clear, and I glance at him once more. “Thank you for keeping him safe, for taking care of him.”
“I did what anyone in my position would have done.”
“No.” It is clipped, abrupt. “You did more than that.”
Silence falls between us for a few minutes before I dare to speak again. When I do, I can’t help the onslaught of questions that fall in rapid succession.
“How did you find him? Arcadia, Ohio, and New York City aren’t exactly close. If someone took him, why take him so far? Why did they take– —?”
Basili puts his hand up, and I fall silent, recognizing the clipped movement immediately. It is a silent ‘that’s enough’. No response comes from the front seat either, the SUV falling into an awkward silence. Once again, I am painstakingly aware that whoever these men are, Basili is in charge.
Jay’s words come back to me, ‘He’s dangerous….’ my own melding with his… crime family… New York City… Italians… Cierro…
Realization dawns slowly, knowledge from my childhood creeping back in. Growing up in my father’s home, I learned about the majority of the major players in New York. Basili Cierro wasn’t from just any crime family; he was fromtheItalian crime family. Replaying Omero’s earlier words,‘right-hand man,’it wasn’t a huge jump to assume that Basili is the current Don of the family.
It is the only thing that makes sense with everything that I’d learned. It would explain why Emmanuel had been kidnapped in the first place. I swallow hard, mind racing. If I am right, I’ll have to tread very lightly while I am with them. If they discover my heritage, I can’t be sure that they wouldn’t use it against me.
“We’ve been tracking every possible lead we’ve found. Dozens of false leads led us on a wild chase across five states. We finally got lucky when one led us to the orphanage,” Basili finally says, taking a deep sigh before turning his attention from me to Omero. “It’s getting late, and I don’t want to be out here on these icy roads. Let’s find somewhere to rest our heads for the night.”
“You got it, boss.”
It isn’t long until he pulls the SUV into a hotel parking lot. I am not overtly surprised to realize it isn’t just any hotel; it is the nicest one in town. Which isn’t saying much in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.
“This will do,” Basili quips. “Let’s go.”
He helps me out of the SUV, Emmanuel still in my arms, before leading the way inside. I follow behind closely, Omero and Raffaello flanking us.
“Two rooms, next to each other. Top floor,” Basili tells the woman at the front desk, his tone beyond reproach. She looks nervous as she types on her computer, taking in the three hulking men accompanying me. Her eyes fall on me with concern. I give her a soft smile, one I hope is reassuring.
“Um, sure. I only have single bedrooms available, king size.”
“That will do,” he affirms, handing over a credit card.
“I call dibs on the bed,” I hear Raffaello mumble to Omero behind us, which only gains him an annoyed groan in response, and I can’t help but giggle quietly at their banter.
Wait… two rooms? One bed.My pulse starts to race — this is so bad, so, so bad.
“All set,” Basili says, handing a key card over to Omero and holding onto the second one. His eyes drop to Emmanuel. “How is he?”
“Exhausted. Hopefully, he will sleep through the night.”
“Good. He needs it.” He gestures towards the elevator. “Let’s go. We should get some rest ourselves.”
We ride up the elevator to the top floor in silence; the only sounds are the rattle of the cable wires in their holders and our breathing. The elevator stops at the third floor, and Raffaello exits first, checking the hallway before nodding to Basili.
He steps out, and I follow close behind, Omero bringing up the rear. They escort us to our room at the end of the hallway before retreating to their own next door. Through the wall, I can hear the door to their room loudly slam shut; obviously, etiquette isn’t their strong point at one in the morning.
The room is small but efficient, with a small kitchenette across from the bathroom, the opening between the two leading into a studio-style room. Well furnished, there is a desk beside the King-sized bed across from the couch and dresser. Through the curtains, I catch a glimmer of the night sky and a doorlatch that must lead out to a balcony.
I haven’t spent much time in hotels, rarely traveling except to chauffeur children who needed shuttling to and from orphanages and foster homes, but I have to admit this is nice.
